of winter sempiternal
by angels entwined
Summary: The queen's presence remains long after the snow settles. It lingers for some a bit more than others, he thinks. —Nico-centric, for Weslee (kaleidoscope sins) in the GGE14. AU. Oneshot.


**Notes; **For Weslee (kaleidoscope sins) in the Gift-Giving Extravaganza 2014. I wrote this in the course of one day and it took several hours and I sort of just _died_at the ending which is why everything is really rushed (the romance is literally like nonexistent it's more like hinted? No?) asdfghjkl; SORRY. (I may be mildly hysterical. And I haven't read PJO in ages so OOC is OOC and HYSTERIA. ._.)

AU, and also, I own nothing, and thank God for Disney Wiki and Tumblr. I did terrible research (Arendelle is supposed to be inspired by Norway and takes place in the 1840s-ish, according to said wiki), so inaccuracies and various other things. Enjoy, anyway.

* * *

Nico di Angelo, unlike some, is used to being a freak — the differences in him are everywhere. He's not pretty, but he is _striking,_ as hard as he tries to hide himself, with eyes too dark and skin too light and there's just this sharp contrast for him in comparison to everyone else.

So when it's revealed the newly crowned Queen Elsa is a sorceress, a witch who ought to be burned at the stake, he's a little shaken. He's not relieved, per se; everyone is aware the Duke of Weselton is a dramatic and malicious little, well, w_easel, _but that power _c__an _do some damage. And really, he doesn't want the rest of the world to have powers, because that's a _lot _of damage.

Nico's seen what power in the hands of the wrong people can do. He shudders.

Sometimes he wonders if he's one of those people.

But anyway, as expected, there's plenty of drama over it. He mostly stays tucked into the shadows, hanging out at the back of the crowd, because even if people don't know what he can do, there's still something incredibly _off _about him, and no one is going to listen to his opinion anyway. It's with a sigh that his older sister, Bianca, joins him, pulling her coat tight against her body to protect her from the cold. Bianca's thin as a rail and shivers, and he knows she's already worrying about what this winter will do to their living conditions.

* * *

The first time it happens, he's six years old; he's playing outside in the grass with Bianca, his mother sitting on a park bench. The place is deserted; it's almost time to go back to school, and everyone's off preparing, but both of the di Angelos are already done with it. Autumn leaves, kaleidoscopes of red and gold, drift down around them, forming halos around their heads in the dim sunlight.

Bianca holds his hand — she's only two years older, but already more mature than he could ever dream of, not that he wants to — as they walk into a patch of forest as their mother scatters bread crumbs to the pigeons, their beaks pecking away at the ground, beady eyes demanding more. His sister gasps in horror when they come across a dead bird, its wing clearly broken and crusted with blood, feathers dried with the gruesome liquid. She places her hands over Nico's eyes protectively, but he's already seen it, biting down hard on his lip to keep back the horror.

Nico swears he's not crying, he's _not, _not even enough for his sister to feel any moisture against his palms. He's not even close to it.

When the bird suddenly leaps up, dragging its wing, she has to muffle a scream and he steps backward, his foot almost crushing hers before they both fall harmlessly onto the grass with a thud. The bird is still dragging its bloody wing and _blood is dripping down again, _and it's so thin it's barely a skeleton, and then it lets out a single, shrill, _horrific _note that has their ears ringing for hours before falling limply back to the ground and bursting into a mess of feathers.

Bianca is pale and terrified despite the olive complexion, the abrupt similarity in skin tones suddenly making it look like they might actually be related and stop people casting confused stares at them. Her grip crushes Nico's hand as they rush back to her mother, dribbling half-formed explanations down her chin.

Maria di Angelo looks horrified and says sharply not to tell anyone in a tone that neither sibling has heard in a long time. The youngest di Angelo can't help but curl on the bench and try not to cry, wondering if he's in trouble, but Bianca assures him that he's definitely not and gives him half of the cookie she'd been saving for lunchtime.

It's not a happy day.

* * *

When Princess Anna just _gallops _out of the castle, her knuckles white as she grips the reins, Grover says that the girl must be _nuts,_ running after her magical sister in below zero guy next to him, a guard named Leo, doesn't seem cold at all even though everyone else can feel the chill to their bones. "She's fantastic," Leo judges cheerfully.

Percy doesn't nod in agreement, exactly, but he does contribute to the discussion. "It's loyal, going after her sister. It's what I'd do."

"Yeah, because you're nuts, too," Grover points out. Maybe a bit shorter than Percy, standing next to each other, they look like Santa Claus and his elfish companion, something Leo hasn't neglected to tease them both about. Percy's decked out in a red parka the size of a blimp, two sweaters, and pants that have to be held by a black belt, as well as boots that almost reach his knee, courtesy of one Sally Jackson. Grover, well, really likes green, and he's holding a giant gift-wrapped box that he'd brought to the coronation ceremony. There is nothing else to it.

Although the fact they're guarding a warehouse full of sleighs does add something.

Percy doesn't even know why they have to guard a warehouse full of _sleighs _— sure, lots of people are going crazy, stealing others' food and clothing, but Prince Hans is handing out provisions and really, if they want wood for fires, they could burn down another warehouse. The sleighs are _empty._ He's supposed to be at the top of his job, and this is the task he's been relegated to?

Sipping a mug of what's supposed to be hot chocolate but tastes more like rather weak tea, he taps the wall of the warehouse, and snowflakes drifted down. A few hours ago, Leo had attempted to initiate a snowball fight, except Grover ended up unconscious and then one of Prince Hans' officers had come along and threatened to fire them before knocking down the fortress Percy had so painstakingly built. Anyway, they can't do it again due to the fact his hands are freezing so much — he's sure not wearing the spare mittens his mother knitted, which were for her and not him, and also happen to be pink — he can barely move them.

After a few minutes in which Percy imagines Leo is trying to come up with more snarky remarks about their outfits, Grover speaks again. "I'm bored."

"And it's cold."

"No, it's not," Leo cuts in; he doesn't know the duo as well as they do each other, but he seems to fit in well enough. He sighs, and unlike everyone else, the exhalation doesn't cause a cloud of fog to puff up before them.

Percy snaps irritably, "Not all of us have fire powers, Valdez."

"Percy!" cries Grover in dismay, clapping a hand over his best friend's mouth before surveying the area wildly. There's no need, since it's been completely empty except for the three before that officer came by and reprimanded them. "Someone could hear!"

"Who?" he asks with a skeptical roll of the eyes. He waves a hand in front of his face, dissipating the cloud of fog and pulling Grover's hand off his mouth.

Grover sighs, knowing he's being a bit paranoid, but it's _justified_. "Am I the only one here who actually has a sense of caution?"

They're quiet for a few moments — surprisingly, Percy and Leo both lack snarky replies, although for Percy, that's probably because he'd be shocked to know his lips aren't blue yet — as the snowflakes drift down.

* * *

The di Angelos weren't poor for the first few years — the children don't know much about their father, but what they do know is that him and Maria had some sort of love affair that was secret and can't be spoken of or told to _anyone, _and maybe they are children, but they're better at keeping secrets than most, and they also know their father has _lots _of money and sent them some every few years to keep them afloat.

But then something happened to their father, something about a war, and they aren't sure what happened and even if he's dead or not, so the money stopped coming. Now, Maria's thinner than both of her children and her fingers look like they've just skin stretched over bones and she works three jobs, and when the winter came, two of them stopped and they can't keep afloat anymore.

Nico, as the youngest, gets all the important things — food, clothing, blankets, while his family laughs and says they're strong and don't need it. He knows they're not calling him weak; it's because he's the youngest, even though he's a full-grown adult — he only works tiny odd jobs because everyone thinks he's creepy and Bianca's been fired from her jobs because of the winter the queen threw Arendelle into.

Nico knows they're being selfless, but when he shares a bed with Bianca and can tell exactly how thin she is, it's unsettling and terrible and they deserve better than the burden he is.

* * *

It's not too long after Princess Anna sets out that her horse runs back, its saddle empty and eyes wild. Prince Hans is concerned, to say the least. Frantic, even. Percy and his friends have just finished their shift, only to be told to hand out clothes to everyone, but that's better than nothing. They're allowed to take a few for themselves — Leo's dad is always away at his workshop with long-term projects and Grover lives with his girlfriend, Juniper, and neither really need too many, but Percy rooms with his best friend, Annabeth, and his mother and stepfather still live with him, so he takes enough that people send him glares and mutter under their breaths about how greedy he is.

When he sees the horse, coated with snow and rearing up and snorting and Hans trying to calm it, he almost drops the clothes onto the cobblestones. The prince pulls at the reins, soothing it, but the horse looks terrified.

"You!" declares the prince suddenly. He's pointing his fingers at random guards. "I've got to go find Princess Anna—"

"Sir, it's not safe!" someone protests, pointing out how he's in charge and he can't just leave them, but Percy almost admires the fervent look in Hans' eyes; he loves Anna dearly, he thinks. Percy can respect that.

"You, you, and you," Hans snaps, and Percy promptly realizes the prince's pointing at _him,_ though his gaze had passed over his friends."Come with me; my second-in-command will be in charge until I return. We have to find Anna!"

So it's less than an hour later that Percy finds himself scribbling a note to his family and Annabeth for Grover to send, trying not to topple out of a saddle — his horse, a black stallion who seemed to perpetually have a sugar cube in its mouth, bucks about and gallops out, nearly running over the man trying to help them.

_Well,_ he thinks, _this will be fun_.

* * *

Nico isn't bothered by the cold, as he practically _is _the cold, but his family is. More than bothered, actually.

He comes in one morning, and his mother casually asks him to check on Bianca as she stirs the pot on the stove, coaxing some warmth into the broth. It's unusual, to say the least, since his sister was always an early riser, and she's still not up.

When he walks back into the bedroom, it's only then that he realizes her lips are tinged with blue, and she's barely breathing. The sheets are almost as cold as death.

Hypothermia, Maria will judge later. A curse, he'll reply, because it's all his fault and that's what he is, isn't it?

* * *

"What do you mean, you can't cure it?" Maria di Angelo asks, blinking owlishly as she combs her fingers through her hair, letting the tightly regulated braid down to cover her shoulders. It's some of the only heat she gets these days, but she's beyond her years and she's still not weak, has not faded with age the way some adults do.

The doctor sighs, dressed in a long coat, and most people trust him because he's not superstitious the way some people are, like the kinds who think when a plague's befallen the kingdom, then God is punishing them. Oddly enough, most of his patients are that type, but it's really not reassuring the only way to cure those boils is to pray to an angry deity who may or may not answer. Maria isn't trusting him now, though. "We're having an increasing amount of diseases because of the old; two are confirmed dead already. I can't do anything, and you, Miss, don't have the money. All you can do is get her warm and hope for the best."

Maria's blood is rushing through her veins, making her feel dizzy, and she wants to shout that the doctor would let people die because of a lack of _money? _That's the way it's always been, though, and she's already struggling to put food on the table. She nods, swallowing down her fear, and thanks the doctor for his so-called advice before turning to the door.

"Miss," adds the doctor after a moment, though the woman does not turn. "I — I know most people don't trust your son, but perhaps he could work here—"

Maria shakes her head; Nico is the very opposite of a doctor, both in personality and in his powers. She thanks him for the offer; he's been one of the kinder people, despite the rumors circulating about her and her children's father. Forcing a smile, she opens the door, and a gust of cold wind blows through the room. "Good-bye, Mr. Chase."

* * *

Striking a cheap match against the firewood, he sighs when it won't light up. He can't exactly afford any good one, and this is his fifth try. Matches are already in shortage in the kingdom. On the sixth try, finally, there's a spark and a sharp crackle before trails of smoke drift up above the wood and it begins to truly burn.

"Thanks, Nico," coughs Bianca, her teeth chattering as she wraps a blanket around herself. Her lips aren't quite as blue, and she doesn't seem to be deteriorating, but she doesn't seem to be getting better, either. Her head is so close to the fireplace that if she moved a few inches, her hair could catch fire. Nico loosely grips her hands in his, even though his own body is already fairly cold. That has to help _some, _right?

The door opens for the briefest of seconds, barely a draft floating in through — well, not much more than usually, considering the ramshackle state of the house. Maria pulls in her coat tighter around herself as her children glance up, trying to read her face. It only takes a few seconds to figure it out.

"There's nothing we can do," she says finally, "except get things warm."

Nico stares at Bianca's face as she goes to sleep; it's probably a bad idea, because she might never wake up, but he can't bring himself to prevent her from doing it. There's a faint fluttering behind her eyelids that at least shows she's still alive. "I'm going to go to Queen Elsa."

His mother stares disbelievingly. "Nico, you _can't._"

"Yes, I can," he replies shortly, tracing the outlines of Bianca's fingers against the blanket. She's mumbling in her sleep, though she doesn't toss and turn. "You know what I can do."

* * *

The first time _that _happens, he's eight years old. It's Bianca's tenth birthday, and he's gone to the bakery at the end of the street to buy her a cake. Though his father's income has stopped coming for a while now, Mother recently received a raise, and anyway, he did well on a test in school and his teacher gave him some chocolates. That can help. Nico's good at school, he knows, except at recess, because people look at him funny for never wanting to play and trying to shrink away from anyone who comes near him, which is odd because in preschool and kindergarten and first grade, he did really well in all of it and had lots of friends. They still don't know why he changed.

Anyway, one of the boys stop him when he's coming from the bakery; he's blushing so hard it looks like he's on fire, and stutters out, "Could you give this to your sister? Don't tell her who I am." Shoving a card and a tiny, gift-wrapped box in Nico's hand, he pauses for a moment, as if expecting a reaction.

The younger boy raises an eyebrow. "You like her?"

The other boy nods, though he seems a little relaxed since it's done and over with.

"Why?"

"I don't play 'why' games," the boy says, waving his hand dismissively, then realizes he sounds a bit patronizing — much to his credit, especially since Nico's younger, and most people who are older, even Bianca, enjoy flaunting it toward their juniors. "Sorry. Just. . .please do it."

Nico mumbles something that might sound like a promise, only to let out a swear word that would've made his family gasp in horror, and probably the older boy as well, except he's rounding out of the corner and out of sight. The former realizes he's going to be late and that there's no way he can make it to the park Bianca's birthday is at in time when it's a twenty-minute walk and it's starting right now and he's holding all of this.

Nico runs, his heart pounding more with anxiety than exhaustion, his feet barely touching the ground. He's urging himself to go faster, and —

Well, he sort of quite literally runs into a pole.

Glancing up and almost toppling backwards, deeply shaken but not dropping the cake in its ribboned box or the blushing boy's gift, he sees the sign hanging from the lamppost he's smacked into. It's the street where the park is, but he's been running for only a few seconds. What. . .?

He glances down at his feet, covered by the dark shadow the lamppost casts, and wonders exactly what happened.

* * *

"Nico di Angelo, I _forbid _you," Maria says, her face flushed with anger. She's standing in front of the door, even though that certainly won't stop him. "It's too dangerous — what's the farthest you've. . .?" She fumbles for words.

"It's called shadow travel," he says after a few awkward moments. He doesn't like putting a label to what he does; the darkness is supposed to be formidable but shapeless and abstract and not quite _real_. "And it's not that far. I'll do it in a few miles at a time."

"A few _miles!_" she nearly shrieks; Bianca is fidgeting in her sleep now, her mumbling sounding almost remorseful, and her brother doesn't want to hear anymore after _my fault. _"It's too dangerous. I'll go."

"_What?_" he demands; he's taller than her now, at nineteen years old, and healthier too. It makes him more resentful than anything, when she should be living her life so much differently. "I'm not a baby anymore!"

And, well.

In the end, Nico goes.

* * *

There aren't any other members of _The Organization, _as Percy enjoys calling it because it sounds enigmatic, on the expedition, though the actual name is Friends' Inn, which sounds kindergarten-like but serves as a decent masquerade for a bunch of people who spend too much time at a place that's supposed to be a bar. In fact, he doesn't even know the people on the expedition; their names are something like Balthazar and Gabriel, like something from the British Isles—this is _Norway, _not the British Isles, he reminds himself. And anyway, isn't Hans from the _Southern_ Isles?

He's distracted on the journey, never entirely sure if he would have made it into the top class of his job if not for The Organization/FI, because he has some serious problems with attention deficiency. Prince Hans and his officers are silent.

Back in the city, the storm rages on.

* * *

It takes even less effort than he would've thought for it to reach Elsa's castle; he sort of just darts through the shadows, looking around and taking breaks every few travels before spotting her rather impressive and difficult to miss palace at the North Mountain. Maybe it's because of the turmoil raging inside him, but the shadows feel effortless and natural and. . .well, that's _wrong _but it feels so _right._

It's not like it matters, anyway. That won't harm Bianca, and there's no one around to see him doing it. Well, almost no one — he makes a stop to steal some food at a store, though he doesn't feel a twinge of guilt, because the place has a _spa. _A pound or two of food won't hurt them; it's just a couple canned things, after all.

It's only until he's basically a quarter mile from the castle, an effortless distance when he's spent half the day stumbling around the wrong locations, that he realizes he isn't sure what to do. Elsa is still the queen, after all; they hardly know each other, and he can't just storm in and pin her to the wall. She'd probably stab an icicle through his heart.

Back in the city, the storm rages on.

Bianca's _illness_ rages on.

He finds he doesn't care.

* * *

Elsa the Snow Queen, the woman in question, paces back and forth on the balcony. Loose blue fabric spills from her wrists, hanging down, and she runs a hand through her hair, frosting her platinum braid into place before peering up at the sky. It's a sort of pinkish glow, though snowflakes are still drifting down, but that's normal for the mountains.

She's crashing from the high earlier, but she still feels happy, she tells herself. She manages a smile more easily than she's been able to in years, fingering her mother's pendant at her throat before leaning casually against the ice railing. Her palace is beautiful, to say the least, like a dream she'd shoved into the back of her mind, telling herself it could never happen.

It has now. She's happy.

And alone.

She sighs, biting her lip and silently consoling herself. Even now, she can't let herself. . ._dwell _on those emotions. She's happy now, and so is everyone else. They're all better off without her.

There's a crash outside.

So much for alone.

* * *

Well, this is embarrassing, but it's not _his _fault, he complains to himself. If there's too much light radiating from the ice palace and therefore the shadows are largely near the trees and the biggest shadow came from a toppled one, it's not _his _fault if he gets pinned under it. Rubbing the bruise that's appeared on his forehead, he struggles with the tree; there's not enough to room to travel somewhere else —

"Who are you, and why have you come here?"

A voice cuts through the air coolly, and he glances up from his position, trapped beneath the crooked pine tree. It's the queen, her posture stiff as she surveys him from a few meters away. She looks noticeably different, her crown and cape gone and her hair tied into a braid, her dress longer and a lighter shade of blue. He supposes he should bow or address her as _Your Highness _or something like that, except his heart is thudding in its ribcage and all he can think is _Bianca, _like a prayer, even though he stopped believing in higher powers long ago.

"Nico di Angelo," he says after a moment, trying to appear calm. She's expressionless, but there's panic in her eyes. "I. . .sort of need your help."

Elsa raises her hands, and there's a whirl as the snow beneath him dislodges and swirls in the air. "I can't let you freeze here," she says evenly, and suddenly, now that he's in her actual presence, Nico realizes the queen is. . .intimidating. The sudden absence of the snow causes him to move closer to the ground, as does the tree, but before it can lean all of its weight on him again, she pulls him out.

"My sister," he attempts to explain, "is sick."

"And you think I can help?" she asks, already turning back toward the palace. There's an impatient pacing back and forth that he recognizes, because he's had it too; she waits at the bridge of ice.

"Hypothermia."

"Oh," she says after an awkward moment, slowing down her step as he catches up. He's as polite as possible, but the almost-sadness, the lack of, _of course I know what to do, _grinds against his nerves. At the same time, he feels pity for her. Then she sighs, flicking a strand of platinum hair out of her face before turning to look at him. "I can't do anything about that."

"It's the _cold._"

"Well, the cold will pass, won't it?" Elsa asks, and it clicks that the queen doesn't know what she's done. It's startling, but then, who knows the extent of their own power? He hadn't known he could make it to the mountains without collapsing, but he did. He's about to explain, but his tongue feels dry, and he can't find the words. "I don't know anything about sickness, really."

"You don't?" His hopes are spiraling downward as he walks beside her rather than meekly behind, a more subconscious thing than anything — he's not trying to be disrespectful, really. She's still the queen, and she's sort of gone through a lot of terrible things, too. "Didn't have a doctor or anything?"

Elsa smiles drily as she waves her hand, and the doors to the palace swing open as she enters. "I was sort of locked up in my room for thirteen years to prevent. . ._this _happening." Her tone becomes bitter as the doors swing shut, barely missing his foot as he catches up to her.

"Oh." This time, he's the one saying it. "Thirteen years? That's since when you were eight."

She doesn't say anything, her heels clicking against the staircase as she ascends to the second floor in a sweep of blue fabric. Nico almost says, _It was since I was six, _but bites it all down as he trails after her. There's no reason she should know, even if he really has nothing to lose.

As she returns to the balcony, she asks, "So, why are you staying?"

Nico looks blankly at her, and Elsa says, "I'm _dangerous. _I could hurt you; you're an innocent civilian who's done nothing to me, and I can't do anything for you. You're also likely to starve or freeze to death here. So why don't you leave now?"

"I — what?" The very idea seems silly, but the queen appears to be dead serious. (The thought almost seems amusing, but then, he's not exactly good at puns.) He didn't come all this way just to turn back, and he can't leave her. "The cold never bothered me anyway." Elsa looks a little amused by this line for reasons he isn't entirely sure of. "Look, I sort of. . .I can't abandon you."

"I don't want your pity."

"It's not just that," he rushes on, joining her on the balcony. The view up here is amazing, and he sees why Elsa hasn't realized the extent of her damage — you can't even see the city from here, which is probably good for her, because that's just a lot of painful memories. "I spent a lot of time getting here. And trust me, you're not any more dangerous than I am, Queen Elsa."

The woman actually laughs at this, extending her hand over the railing. Snowflakes gravitate toward her automatically, and with a bit of waving them around, she directs them toward him. The air around him becomes colder and colder, until it actually bothers him, until he's _freezing _— "I could kill you."

"And I could kill you."

A bird is flying overheard, one of those tough species that can somehow survive in the mountain. He doesn't realize what he's unconsciously doing, but he reaches up for it even though he's far too short, maybe the same height as Elsa herself, and it drops to the balcony with a clatter, dead. Its feathers appear to be doing something odd; they're _melting _off the bird, bloodied goo shed, and it looks exactly like the broken-winged creature he'd found so many years ago in the forest with his. . .that other person.

He's not sure what he's doing, except that this is the first person he's ever told himself and she looks _horrified _and he says, "I'm a lot like you." _Except less pretty, _he supposes, staring at the delicate structure of the ice castle.

She doesn't say anything, just nods and lets him stay — not quite terrified, exactly, even though the logical assumption is that he could kill her, too (not that he knows if he could).

He can't help but think that maybe he doesn't want to see Bianca die.

* * *

It happens a day or two later; they've settled into some odd, companionable silence, with nothing more than a few questions that is she really _sure _she can't do anything to help Bianca and a hopeless _yes_. No dramatic monologues or sentimental conversations. Nico's out getting food at the time, to use a less brutal euphemism than _stealing,_ shadow traveling around to find that store; he'd retrieved the food nearly crushed by that tree, but it's not enough now.

When he returns, there is a giant, roaring _monster _made of snow, icicles protruding from its back, and he thinks maybe Queen Elsa's actually afraid of him and is trying to get him out by force and it's _barreling right toward him, _except it's not. It picks up two tiny figures he vaguely recognizes, one of them male and one of them female, before bellowing, "_Don't come back,_" and dropping them right off a cliff.

Nico finds the nearest shadow and gets into the palace as he hears the ominous footsteps of the snow monster thudding against the ground. Elsa's pacing inside, her fingers pressed to her temples; there's a more reddish glow cast by the sky onto the palace, almost the color of blood reflected in the glass-like surfaces. Setting down the bag of food he's gathered, he calls, "Queen Elsa?"

She's muttering nonsensically to herself. "_Conceal,_" he hears. "_Don't feel._" She's chanting it to herself, like a mantra, like it's her only hope. New columns of ice are growing in the palace, shooting up toward the ceiling in a shower of chips of ice.

"Don't come near me," she calls to him; she sounds angry, but not at him. Squeezing her eyes shut, there's a hint of tears in them, but, well, they freeze.

"What happened?"

"_Don't feel!_" she nearly screams, like a command to _him _instead of herself, and it's ridiculously obvious she's upset. "I'm sorry, Nico. Just. . .get out." And then, "Why didn't you tell me Arendelle was in an eternal winter?"

His tongue feels thick. "I. . .forgot to mention it?" He's just been so wrapped up in everything, and she looks so hurt, and _what happened?_

He tries to remember the image of the two figures dangling in the air. One was blonde, maybe, and the other had braided hair. It clicks. _Anna. _Her sister, the princess, of course. Of _course _Anna would have come here. The queen's presence remains long after the snow settles. It lingers for some a bit more than others, he thinks. "Queen Elsa. . ."

"Please don't call me that," she says, opening her eyes. "I'm. . .I'm no queen." She ascends the stairs, but it doesn't help; she's moving too fast, leaving Nico behind on the first floor, and the beams of ice are still shooting through the ceiling.

* * *

Prince Hans and his company arrives soon enough, Percy supposes, but a lot could have happened to Princess Anna in the period of time they took. He misses Annabeth and his family, who are all undoubtedly worried about him, but he has to commend Hans for his courage facing a person who's built an entire ice palace and cast eternal winter on Arendelle. It already feels like the storm has been here for forever.

At the same time, he has no plans to harm Queen Elsa; she could be a possible recruit for FI, because she certainly qualifies as one of. . ._them. _He's not sure how this will turn out, but hopefully, it doesn't come to violence.

There's a boy sitting at the bridge of ice, although not really a boy; he's maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. Percy's seen him a few times in school, though he was a few grades below, because he had a bit of an odd reputation — what's he called? Nikolai? Nicholas? He looks a little like a guard, maybe, but he doesn't appear to have any weapons; he's wearing a simple jacket and trousers, gnawing on a piece of what appears to be rather stale bread.

"Excuse me," says Prince Hans, looking a little doubtful about if he's even in the right place, "but have you seen Princess Anna?"

The boy glances up; there's obvious recognition in his eyes. The prince is Anna's fiancee, after all. "Of a sorts," he says cryptically, but makes a brief nod that's probably meant to resemble a gesture of courtesy. There's nothing particularly violent or temperamental about him, though; he looks harmless.

"Is she all right?"

"That depends. I don't know, really." He sighs, although not impatiently, and stands up, finishing off his bread. There's something tense about him, though, like he's preparing for something. He says, "You might want to get out of here."

And then the boy just _disappears._

Percy isn't as incredulous as the other men. He's seen some odd things, obviously. He's seen Leo burn down his blue birthday cake, his mother shooting a burglar in the leg, a white talking cat insisting on collecting his soul, the owner of said cat screaming about physics, and his ex hiss green smoke and recite some really cool but creepy rhymes while possessed, all of which are long, _long_ stories.

It's more than strange, and as everyone around him reels backward, mouths gaping like fishes (they should know better after Queen Elsa; why would they be surprised at this boy?), he realizes he doesn't have time to dwell on this.

Maybe because, you know, there's sort of a giant ice monster that just showed up out of nowhere and is trying to kill him. He's easily distracted like that.

* * *

Nico has just barely finished warning Queen Elsa when he flashes down again to watch the four men fight the monster Elsa had dubbed "Marshmallow." The queen did have her own sense of humor, he'd thought after she told him about it. Marshmallow's putting up a good fight, roaring and swinging his arms with less than what he'd call precision, but they're all doing a decent job fighting the creature. He doesn't want to get involved, because who _knows _what might happen if he becomes violent, but he feels a little agonized; he can't leave Elsa alone, either, even though she won't blame him.

He settles for watching from afar, easily able to travel to Elsa if things get dangerous, and far enough away from the fight that he manages not to get hurt. Marshmallow is finally felled by Prince Hans while another man lies unconscious on the ground, bleeding. Nico can't help but feel guilty, but he doesn't appear to be dead, and if he's unconscious, Marshmallow won't try to kill him.

When Prince Hans manages to get across the bridge of ice, Nico finally travels to Elsa. She's standing at the bottom of the staircase on the first floor, eyes wide with terror; snowflakes are hovering around his fingertips, like sparks, like fireflies, and she looks terrified. He knows it's not directed at _him, _but she reminds him painfully of Bianca —

Bianca, who he abandoned, and he's not going to leave the queen in her greatest time of danger —

The doors swing open, and just like that, she's running upstairs, sending beams of blue light at anyone who comes near her. Nico darts from shadow to shadow (it's only a matter of meters, after all, nothing like the exhausting trek to the mountains), managing not to get impaled, his mind moving, trying to figure out if he can delay Hans and his men. And he can _swear_ the shadows are dancing, gravitating toward him, shifting, and they don't look menacing to him but it's like the room is a maze and they're the walls and the men are specifically avoiding them without even fully realizing it.

It's difficult reaching the second floor, but he doesn't even notice the sudden change in height even though at this altitude in the mountains he should be breathless. If he is, he doesn't notice. He flattens himself against the wall because the men haven't even noticed him and he _doesn't want this to get violent. _Elsa could hurt them, but it's so much easier for him to downright _kill _them when all his powers encompass is the domain of darkness and death.

Nico makes it just in time to see part of the ceiling collapse and Elsa fall.

* * *

Percy turns over, realizing his temple is sticky with blood. He knows enough that head wounds bleed more than they should and he shouldn't be alarmed, but his temples throb and he feels horrible. It's downright embarrassing that he was the first to fall when he's the one with _powers._

Speaking of powers, he lights a match and manages to get some snow into his hand, holding the two close together. Water drips through his fingers onto his face, and it feels wonderful. He can see stars in the spaces between his hand, because if he's going to die, he might as well be a sentimental fool.

_You're not going to die, _he tells himself irritably, blowing the match out. Maybe it's because his powers are versed in water, but he's not a fan of fire, which is probably why he's not best friends with Leo Valdez even though they have sixty percent of their shifts together. That, and the guy is fantastic, but he's really rather insensitive sometimes.

The cuts on his face close up a little, and he watches as the last of the snow drips through his fingers. He still feels horrible, but at least the cuts are healed now, although he can feel some bruises on his torso and legs. With a grunt, he tries to pull himself to a sitting position, just as a voice slices through the air. "How did you do that?"

Percy sees a pair of legs walking steadily toward him as he sits up. It's the N-something person; his name finally clicks. _Nico di Angelo_. "Do what?"

"The water thing."

Percy is silent for a few seconds as he brushes his fingers over his face, making sure the injuries on there are gone. "How did you disappear like that?"

Nico stares at him, and there's something almost like _hope _in his eyes. Percy can tell the poor guy doesn't get a lot of it, even if he's terribly confused as to exactly what happened, and where is that ugly snow monster, and where's Prince Hans?

"Are there others like me?" he asks quietly, and Percy recognizes this tone. It's the tone of a new recruit.

"In answer to that," the latter replies, "yes. But first, get me some food."

* * *

Later, Nico won't say they _hit it off, _exactly, and he's still worried over both Elsa and Bianca. He'd probably be back at Arendelle already, except he can't leave Percy, either. It happens to be much harder than he expected to take an injured person shadow traveling, and after going all of a mile in a few seconds, Percy runs to the edge of a cliff, throws up, and almost falls.

Nico nearly screams at him in frustration, the _idiot, _he could have _died, _and. . .well, he _needs _Percy. Not because the guy's his heart and soul, although he's nice enough even if he slips in jokes that make di Angelo want to tear out his hair, but Percy's words are, no pun intended, magic.

Percy tells him about FI, even if the name is stupid, about how all of them are different and strange and even terrifying. The younger boy drinks in his words like they're his _life; _he carves them onto the walls of his veins and he's _made _of them. Percy tells him that he shouldn't be afraid, and he's not the only one — Elsa's probably like them, too, and he'd never meant to hurt her, and neither had the prince. They just want Anna back.

Nico almost cries, but he reins all of it in and talks about casual things with Percy, like the teddy bear Annabeth gave him ("Your girlfriend?" "No, more than that. Just not in that way. She's my best friend.") for his twenty-first birthday, or how his mother, Sally, tried to give him an umbrella to protect him from the snow.

"Your mom sounds like mine," Nico says, and he hasn't shared a single detail of his own life beyond what's necessary but he shares this. "My mom. . .she worked really hard." His tone turns bitter. "I still ended up like this anyway."

Percy gives Nico a hug, even though the older man doesn't seem like one for physical contact, because Lord knows di Angelo needs one. Nico shudders, but pretends it's from the cold; he sort of just stands like a very awkward statue.

"By the way," Percy adds, "why'd the prince and his men leave me?"

Nico sighs, gnawing on another stale piece of bread now. If they don't hurry, they'll run out soon, and unlike him, Percy's not practically immune to the cold. Every snowflake that drifts down is painful for him anyway, a reminder of the currently absent queen. "They thought you were dead."

"And you were watching?" Percy clarifies, grabbing a piece of bread as well. It's mildly annoying — he eats more than Marshmallow, or at least a human Marshmallow, would, but Nico says nothing.

"And made sure you didn't die of hypothermia, yes," Nico says. They're resting beneath a tree; they've half-walked, half-shadow traveled to Arendelle, and there's maybe a few hours left before they reach there. He's practically bristling with impatience, but Percy's still sick.

The green-eyed says nothing, and he seems to be entirely concentrated on his food, so it's Nico who's the first to notice.

"What is that?"

Percy glances up, and his face darkens. He stands up, observing the swirling clouds over Arendelle. "I'm fairly certain that's what you call a blizzard."

* * *

Here are three very important things.

One, a girl — woman, although barely — by the name of Princess Anna currently is out in a blizzard, slowly freezing to death from the inside as well as the outside.

Two, Queen Elsa is trapped in her own storm, confused, terrified, half-blind from the winds, and believing she is alone. Generally, people who believe they're alone probably actually are alone, not because they have no people, but because they won't let those people in.

Three, Percy Jackson and Nico di Angelo. That is all.

* * *

"Look," interrupts Percy, "you can't make it to Arendelle in time dragging me along. I'm a burden."

Nico is familiar with the feeling of being a burden, and that's anything but what Percy's been. In this situation, however, he probably is; logic can be cruel like that. He stares at Percy indecisively.

"Go rescue her; I know how important the queen is to you—"

"We're not like that," Nico says flatly, almost unreasonably irritated by the assumption that they are. He likes Queen Elsa, and he could call her probably his only friend, unless Percy and Bianca count.

The green-eyed man waves his hand casually, dismissing it. "I don't care. Go rescue here. She's more important."

Nico doubts he thinks that just because she's the queen. "No. I'm taking care of you."

Later, Percy will point out shadow traveling a few miles and immediately causing him to vomit on the nearest tree isn't really taking care of someone, but for now, well, that's just what's going to happen.

* * *

Oh, and one more thing.

Nico di Angelo arrives just in time to see the queen of Arendelle on the ground, hunched over and nearly curled up in a ball in terror, and were her eyes not open, he'd think she's dead. As it is, she's not, but she will be soon. In the raging storm, there's no shadows he can find quickly enough to travel to her, he's too far away, and his reaction time just isn't quick enough.

In short, Nico di Angelo arrives just in time to see Princess Anna of Arendelle run in front of her sister, turn to ice, and break the sword of Prince Hans.

This requires processing a few more things.

One, Prince Hans is presumably a piece of profanity that would get him a lecture in the school hallway had he not dropped out a year early to try (unsuccessfully) find a job.

Two, Anna is dead.

It's heartbreaking, and an ominous prophecy, as Elsa drapes her arms over Anna's frozen statue and sobs, her cries echoing in the silence. Nico is paralyzed a few feet away, disbelief etched on his face, and grief.

He turns, and Nico di Angelo runs to find his sister.

* * *

Elsa's sobs will always echo in his ears, he thinks, and he crashes through the doorway of his own home. Bianca must be dead by now, with barely any treatment, but much to his surprise, he finds it empty. "What. . .?"

Of course, the basement. Sure, it's damp and cold, but at least it's not likely to fall down like the house will. Swallowing, he knows that won't favor Bianca's condition, and her name is there again, replacing every word and hope Percy placed inside him, crushes the plants that had been growing underfoot, because without his sister, it doesn't matter to him.

He opens the door to the basement without it even occurring to him he could just go through the shadows, or maybe it's that he's _sick _of shadows and darkness and death, because he only just saw Anna die because of Elsa's powers and his own were never any good and he _still __hasn't saved his sister,_ despite all the powers and how Percy says he should somehow be proud of them. This is all going to be his fault.

Nico's sort of been having a really bad day/week/month/life, so it's good timing that right then, the storm lifts.

He rubs his eyes, watches as the snow _finally _settles and melts away all at once, dripping down the street gutters, vanishing off the cobblestones, and he sees a light in the distance. The snowflakes are all being sucked toward the center of Arendelle, and there's a dazzling flash of light before everyone rejoices and cheers for Queen Elsa, the not-evil enchantress who controls ice.

It's also in the nick of time that Percy arrives, bits of vomit and snow still in his hair (disgusting, but he's so glad to see him), with one Leo Valdez.

* * *

"You're sure he won't burn up her corpse?" Nico verifies weakly. He's watching Elsa and Anna skate over the ice in the town square, happy as ever; it's snowing again, but thankfully, it's barely a light flurry, and it only extends over the area around the square, nowhere near the di Angelos' excuse for a house.

Percy exhales, but seems confident. "Of course. Leo's. . .impulsive, but she'll recover. It's very gradual, and she would have a heart attack if he burst into flame all at once, but yeah."

"I have a question, though. If Leo has fire powers, why didn't he just get rid of Arendelle's. . ." Nico waves his hands awkwardly. "Eternal winter?"

"Because it would probably cause an eternal drought, that's why," Percy says drily. "Leo has problems reining himself in. Anyway, you'll be joining the organization, won't you?" He seems hopeful, almost puppy-dog-adorable in it, and he looks a lot younger than twenty-one.

Nico nods. "I owe it to Bianca." He almost kisses him right there because _Bianca is alive, _but instead, he settles for pointing at the fountain because that's awkward and he really doesn't know him that well. "I don't suppose we could have a little fun once no one else is around?"

Percy looks at him for a brief moment and nods before pausing and says, "I'm the worst ice skater ever and Annabeth will never stop making fun of me, but. . ."

Nico takes his hand, and they spiral out onto the ice.

And fall.

"Well," he admits, "we tried."

Nico di Angelo is used to being a freak, and the person looking at him right now is too, and so is the platinum-haired woman laughing in the center of the square. That's okay.


End file.
